


On the Supernatural Potential of Marius Pontmercy

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Gen, Vampires, discussions of the supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: In which Jean Prouvaire and Bahorel share a glass of absinthe, a few pints of ale, and a discussion over Courfeyrac's most intriguing friend and roommate.





	On the Supernatural Potential of Marius Pontmercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [briarcreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/briarcreature/gifts).

"Does something strike you as odd about Courfeyrac's new friend?"

Bahourel put down his mug of ale to spare a glance at his drinking-and-questionable-ideas companion; Prouvaire's longish hair falling near-coquettishly around his face as he studied the carafe of ice water on the table.

"Of course I did. The man's a _Bonapartist_ for Christ's sake!"

If Prouvaire blushed at the blasphemy (as he was wont to do) the dim ambient lighting hid it well. 

"No, something else," he simply replied, eyes tracing the trail of a water droplet as it tracked through the pitcher's condensation. "I think he's a vampire."

Bahorel put down his glass and placed his elbows on the table, leaning forward in a conspiratorial gesture. 

"Well, that's a new one by me. The hell's got you thinking the booby is a vampire?"

"I've several reasons," the poet stated. "His mannerisms are quite odd, you must admit. Even beyond his outdated political allegiances, which in and of themselves make me question his age."

At this, Bahorel gave a chuckle. "You said something similar about Enjolras last month when you were far less sober, you realize. He turned out not to be a cherubim after all, did he not?"

Prouvaire rolled his eyes. "Well, of _course_ he's not a cherubim. He only has one head, after all. A Dominion, on the other hand—"

"Hardly ever show themselves to humans," Bahorel interjected. The argument was old, after all, and the hierarchy of angels simply weren't worth his while to remember, even if his companion had made a valiant attempt to teach him nonetheless. "I'm telling you, he's just a very pretty man."

"And he might be," Prouvaire agreed, "but you'll pardon me my doubts."

Bahorel simply shrugged and took another long swig.

"And I was right about _you_," Jehan added, almost nonchalant as he picked up the pitcher and poured it through his absynthe spoon.

"Well, yes," Bahorel acquiesced, "but Combeferre figured that out nearly two months earlier."

Prouvaire gasped, nearly dropping the carafe in his astonishment. "He did not!"

"He did," Bahorel replied, "But there's no reason to look so stricken. You're still the only one I've taken to the woods upon the full moon, after all."

Prouvaire smiled, thinking back on the experience. "Your secret is safe with me, old friend."

Bahorel laughed. "Now, now, there's no need for that. What fun is lycanthropy if it's not an open rumour, after all? But anyway, you can't just accuse a mutual acquaintance of being a vampire without also providing your credentials, and it's been far too long since I've played devil's advocate."

"I was getting to that, though you'll admit it's much more effective to speak on such topics when not sober." Prouvaire swirled the milky green liquid, staring into its contents before taking his own words to heart with a good long sip. He leaned back, eyes closed, meditating on the experience for a good two minutes before returning his attention to his drinking mate and conversational partner with a sigh. 

“This would go better with a few more libations and some good hashish, but I’ll make do for tonight.” He took another sip regardless, both building up suspense and slipping slightly closer to his preferred state of tipsiness. 

“Sometime this century,” Bahorel prompted, to which Prouvaire tilted his head thoughtfully, mulling over his mental list.

"For one, have you ever seen him during the day?"

"I have not," Bahorel admitted, "though Bossuet claims he was in Blondeau's class long enough to be kicked out."

"Yes but that's just the thing," Prouvaire pointed out. "Our eagle wasn't physically present for that class, so there were no clear witnesses."

Bahorel gave a noncommittal grunt into his beer as he tried to think of other holes. "Didn't you go to breakfast with him and Courfeyrac not two weeks ago?"

"It was an early meal, eaten in the morning twilight. I hadn't yet slept, and pondered on this very topic as I watched the sun rise." He swirled the liquid in his cup once more. “Courfeyrac himself says that Pontmercy only travels outside under the cover of darkness, when he can help it. He claims it's so he can appear in mourning despite only having Courfeyrac's old green coat to wear—"

"That old thing? Wouldn't it be too large on him?"

"The porter in their building is an amateur tailor, apparently. But at any rate, the coat was fitted, and he only goes out at night when he can help it. But it couldn't have been that much worse to get the garment dyed black, in my estimation. The darker colour might have improved the look, in fact, given Pontmercy's general pallor. But no, he chose to just have it turned instead, which weakens his argument and points toward other motivations, such as unfortunate reactions to direct sunlight."

Bahorel finished his own mug, and raised his hand in the universal signal for 'another, preferably two more of the same'. "There must be more reason than that," he insisted. "After all, only leaving the house after dark could also speak of preferring a lifestyle more nocturnal than diurnal, which you yourself could also be accused of."

"True," Prouvaire replied. "Starlight is simply more conducive to inspiration. Perhaps because the power of dreams is transferred to the pen. But back to the matter at hand. Did you know that vampires are unable to enter a place of residence uninvited?"

"I've heard rumours to that effect."

"And you heard Courfeyrac speak of inviting him a second time when Pontmercy announced that he came to sleep with him?"

"He really did use that line, huh?"

"Apparently, and not in the way I intend on using it tonight."

"I look forward to it."

"But combined with Courfeyrac and Bossuet's many retellings of Blondeau's funeral oration and Pontmercy's relocation, it's safe to say he was invited in on more than one occasion."

Bahorel considered this as his new drinks were delivered. "A fair summation, but still not one that goes beyond common decency, especially in Courfeyrac's circles."

"And then there's his grandfather's house. Have you had a chance to see it?"

"I have not."

"Grantaire took me there, having gathered the information from one place or another; it lies in the Marais, on Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. It is as ancient as it is grand, though not so much decrepit as crumblingly venerable. If any place was suitable for a sire to reside, this must be a likely suspect."

"And so you would judge a man's character based on the company his estranged grandfather keeps?"

"Not on its own, but together it begins to paint a picture." Jehan drained the rest of his glass, then met Bahorel's eyes. “I don’t suppose you know what vampires smell like?”

Bahorel shrugged. “Blood, if they’ve fed recently. Like how I’ll be smelling anise off of you for the rest of the night. Outside of that, it’s about as varied as the rest of humanity.”

“And you’ve never smelled blood on him before?”

“It’s hard to smell anything overtop of the alcohol. And where there’s been a brawl, there’s always a lingering scent.”

“And there’s barely an establishment in this fair quarter where you haven’t personally been involved in one, is there?”

Bahorel puffed his chest out proudly. “Of course.”

Jehan, in turn, deflated. “Well, there goes that method of proof, then.”

Bahorel reached across the table and patted his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll think of something more substantial in time.”

* * *

In one too-fast motion, he'd blocked a bayonet from spearing Bahorel as he shot at Courfeyrac and Gavroche's would-be combattants. In another, Jean Prouvaire was knocked to the ground as Marius shoved him aside to bite at his assailant. The man seemed to be collecting wounds without slowing down at all; in fact, they seemed to _heal_ as he drank heartily from the blood of their foes.

Bahorel's knuckles were covered with someone's blood—perhaps a mix of his own and that of a few others—as he approached Prouvaire to offer him a hand back to his feet.

"There's your substantial proof!" he stated, nearly yelling to be heard over the gunfire surrounding them as they headed back to tend to their wounds and prepare to fight once more.

"It seems you're right," Prouvaire agreed. "I just hope that in this turn of events, the City Guard don't recruit Philibert Apsairt and his compatriots to their side…."

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I saw the vampire prompt, I jumped at the chance. My original idea was a little more Gothic Horror than Gothic Horror Comedy, however, but then I thought of these two and grinned, so I hope that this will suffice. I also hope you will forgive my inclusion of a werewolf Bahorel and (probably unfounded) thoughts of an angelic Enjolras. Between Borel's "le lycanthrope" and the allusions to Enjolras in the Brick itself, it seemed fitting. Also, yes, all of Jehan's bits of proof are straight from the book, because it tickled me that he _did_ have so many little details that lined up with vampiric mythology so well.
> 
> [Philibert Apsairt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philibert_Aspairt) is a man who died in the catacombs around the time of the French Revolution. I have no doubt that Prouvaire would, at the very least, expect his ghost and those of others who have died down there, if not the ghosts of all who are buried there, to haunt the grounds. And to have Jean Prouvaire not assume the supernatural wherever he can find it seems far less fun than otherwise.


End file.
